


Braids

by d__T



Series: And in the End, It's All the Same [2]
Category: Mad Max 1979, Original Work
Genre: Domestic violence warning, vindication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Renholder returns to the house that she left in the dust behind her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Braids

She hadn't meant to go back. She really hadn't. But some things must be done.

\--

She’d left in the middle of the day, walked out of her job without a word, and got into her car. She’d driven home and calmly taken the jacket from the closet, the revolver and ammunition from its case, the keys to the motorcycle. She’d quickly and efficiently braided her waist length hair into two simple braids, changed her earring to the gold studs they were pierced with years ago, and changed out of her work skirt and blouse and into the most practical jeans and t-shirt she owned. She took every bit of canned food in the house, the emergency reserve cash, and most of the knives besides.

She swept it all into the saddlebags on the motorcycle and rode for the horizon that hour. Unlike every devoted spouse ever turned to salt in myth, she did not look back.

She hadn’t meant to go back, but three weeks out she’d poured water into a bowl she’d bought and hacked her hair off short. Three weeks out and she saw herself in the water-mirror for the first time whole and without bruises by his hands. And she knew, she had to go back. Not for him, but because she was finally free.

\--

Heart in her throat, vindication in her chest, years of bruises and cuts coiled under her skin, and her cut off braided hair in her fist, she let herself into the house.  _He’s_  home, of course, as she knew he would be. Heaven forgive if he ever deviated from his schedule. He’d sure be glad to see her...

And oh, he  _was_. He slammed up out of his chair, malice already in his voice and fists.

“Baby, where’ve you  _been_? I missed you so much! And what did you do to your hair?  _You know how I loved your hair_.”

Striding toward her, his hands are already out as if in greeting. But she knows what comes next, his fist comes in and slams her in the soft spot just under her short ribs.

“ _No.”_  It doesn’t bring him up short, it never has, but here in this time her body is not there for his fist to hurt. She’s dancing back, evading. She knows the steps in this dance all too well.

“My love, I know how much you loved my hair. Enough that I grew it out for you, you know. All those years. For you,  _darling_. So I thought you might like this, since you don’t like me.”

She holds out one of the lopped off braids to him, tied off ends coiled in her hand. She’s smiling the smirk of the feral-beyond-fear at him.

He reaches for the coil of hair, outrage on his face, so she drops it. It slithers to the floor with a faint pthilp sound as he  _lunges_  at her. She darts backwards, slams into a wall and just manages to redirect her bounce away from him and to safety.

“ _I’m free of you, you shit sucking pig. You’ve got no hold on me now.”_

She sneers at him and spits in his face.

“Shoulda done that years ago.”

She turns and runs.


End file.
